All good things come to an end
by xblackxdahliax
Summary: Kurt's life changed drastically when his mother died. New home. New parents. New life. Whether it changed for the better has yet to be seen. Only time will tell. AU.
1. Bye Bye Mama

**Disclaimer:** All characters, etc, are property of one lucky sonofabitch..I mean Ryan Murphy.  
><strong>Author notes:<strong> This is an AU fic. The main pairing will eventually be Puck/Kurt, but there will be Blaine/Kurt in it as well, and a bunch of cannon pairings as well. No O/Cs. Oh and this is kinda just a prologue.

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><p>It's four am, but he doesn't know this, just that he's still awake. No matter how hard he tries to catch it, sleep evades him. Counting pink fluffy sheep wearing tiaras hasn't helped. Mama said it always worked; she lied. He tosses and turns, changing positions a total of a hundred and fifty times. Of course, he doesn't know this either because the furthest he can count to is twenty, using his small stubby figures. Like Mamma taught him too. But Mama isn't here to help him count the amount of times he moves around bed, and Mama isn't here to teach him new ways to find sleep.<p>

Mama is gone.

No amount of thinking about her is going to bring her back. He's already learnt that. He's spent three whole months thinking about her and wishing she'd come back to him. Of course, he's incapable of understanding the proper flow of time and to him it seems like a hundred days of never ending wishes on stars.

The tears are beginning to fall. _Mama. Mama. _One word whispered a hundred times in a never ending mantra. He tries to be as quiet as he can. He knows if he were louder Mama would have a better chance of hearing him, but so would the strange woman next door.

His new mother. That's what the kind people told him she was before they sent him away with her. He misses them. The kind people who treated him just like Mama did; gentle and loving. He also misses the other children, especially that one little girl with crazy hair, Mercy. She was his favourite and she had always treated him like he was hers.

He crawls out the bed slowly and quietly. Tiptoes across the cold floorboards towards the blue toy box at the foot of the bed. Blue. He hates that colour. He had wanted the nice castle like one, but the strange woman next door had laughed and told him, _that's for girls silly_. He didn't like being laughed at or called silly. Mama wouldn't have done **_that_. **She would have asked him if the castle toy box was the one he _really really_ wanted, made him promise he wouldn't change his mind when they got home, and then would have bought it for him. But Mama hadn't been there. He had allowed the woman next door to direct him to the blue one and when she asked him if he would lik_e this one _instead, he'd simply nodded, biting his lip to stop the impending tears.

He opens the toy box carefully now, avoiding any noise that could alert the woman next door of his wakefulness. He puts his little hand in, roots around, and pulls out a Barbie Fairytopia doll. It was Mercy's bye bye present to him. She had told him that he was to keep it and to play with it whenever he missed her, by doing this, it would be as if they were playing together. In return he had given her his shiny pretty tiara with the pink feathers all over it. They had promised each other that when they next met they would return the toys to their rightful owner. They wouldn't need them anymore because they would have each other to play with. He hasn't shown the strange woman the doll. He knew that if she saw it, she would have laughed at it just like she had at the toy box he had chosen.

He cradles the doll and then sets it aside. He returns his hand to the box and pulls out a soft peacock coloured scarf. Mamas. He carefully lifts it to his nose and smothers his face into it, eagerly taking in Mama's unique floral scent. The tears have stopped now, but his chest feels funny.

He clutches the scarf in one hand and picks up the doll in the other. Quietly, he returns to his bed, secures the scarf to his pillow and places the doll to his side. He curls up again, this time facing the doll, closing his eyes and is asleep in seconds.


	2. Three years later

**Disclaimer:** All characters, etc, are property of three lucky sonofabitches...I mean RIB.

**A/N:** Still in the introductory phase so nothing major in this chap lol Any guesses as to who the 'new' mother is?

**Mischievous Gleek: **Thank you for the review I deliberately didn't mention Kurt's new mother's name…thought it'd be more fun for you to guess lol And never fear Papa Burt will be in this (I love him too much for him not to be), but he won't be Kurt's biological dad…this fic wouldn't work if he was lol Sorry I made you cry as well…I cry every time I reread the first chap (to make sure my grammar and stuff is perfect)…and I was in tears when I wrote it. Poor Kurt, what have I done to you :'(

**aedy: **I'm glad you found the first chap interesting. Hopefully the rest of it keeps your interest

**And to all of you who faved this fic and set it for alert, Thank You!**

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><p><em><span>Three years later<span>_

The woman drags herself out of bed reluctantly, after pressing a 'good morning' kiss to her husband's bare back. She trudges over to the bathroom, grabs her toothbrush and face wash and gets to work.

Twenty minutes later, her face looks refreshed and her breath is minty fresh. She grabs the brush she likes to keep in the basket next to the sink and runs it through her soft hair, until it's shiny and tangle free. Next, she picks up her concealer and foundation, and begins to apply her 'face' on. She'll be back to have a shower later when her son has left for school.

Satisfied, she leaves the room and walks down the hallway until she reaches the room at the other end of the hall. She knocks on the door quietly and opens it no less than a minute after. Once inside, she walks over to the small bed sat in the exact middle of the clutter free room, bends down, and gently shakes the sleeping child.

"Time to wake up, sweetheart. You need to get up and get ready for school." The child pulls away instantly from her hand and she pulls her hand back, abruptly. It hurts, of course, but after three years of the same thing, she's learnt not to dwell on it.

"Kurt!" She raises her voice loud enough so that it can penetrate his half asleep senses. He whimpers, and she nudges him lightly with her hand, and this time when he pulls away, his eyes are open. Those gorgeous and pure blue eyes look at her with contempt, like they always do. She wonders if he would even know what the word meant, despite being so good at expressing it towards her.

It's been three years, two months and two days since she brought this child home with her and called him son, and those eyes are still the same. Nothing has changed.

"Kurt, come on, up you get." She gently raises the quilt off him, and carefully lifts him upwards. Once, he's up, she brushes the wild brown hair out of his eyes, and smiles at him fondly. Those eyes show no emotion towards her. When she's satisfied he won't go back to sleep, she leaves the room, leaving him to get himself ready.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~_~~~~~~~~~why do all good things come to an end_~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When _she's_ gone, he gets out the bed slowly. It takes awhile for him to fight the temptation of locking the door, and crawling back to that safe haven of his bed. He retreats to the on-suite bathroom in his room and heads straight into the shower. When that's done, he dresses quickly, leaving his short brown hair damp.

A quick check to the mini digital clock in his room shows he has eaxactly twenty minutes left to leave the house or he'll be late for school.

He rushes down the stairs, taking two at a time, all the while being careful not to trip. A trip down the stairs is the last thing he needs right now. When he reaches the bottom step he pauses, straining to hear the muffled voices coming from the kitchen.

"Have you noticed anything strange about, Kurt, darling?" He doesn't need to see the speaker to know it's his fake mother's mother_- call me Lucy, dear._

_Fake mother_- even after two years of being placed under the woman's care, Kurt still refuses to call _her_ anything more pleasant or appropriate. He has no intention of opening up to _her_ and letting _her_ fill the role his mother left behind. We only get one mother in this life and his was no longer in this world, no replacement could ever change that fact.

"Strange about Kurt? Mother, what are you on about now? There's nothing strange about Kurt. He's a perfectly normal and healthy eight year old boy." The response is brisk and makes it quite clear the topic of conversation is not open for debate.

"But, darling…I meant something strange...about his behaviour…" the older woman trails off uncertain of how to approach her sensitive enquiry.

"_Mother_, instead criticising my perfect little boy, why don't you do something useful instead, like turn on the coffee machine, hmm?" The peculiar conversation is put to an end before it ever really began, and the room grows quiet. Kurt wishes it hadn't been avoided so cleanly. He'd really like to know what the old woman was going to say about him. .

He doesn't particularly like her, and he knows she doesn't like either. He's seen the looks she gives him, when she thinks he isn't paying attention to her presence. They're a mixture of curiosity, so deep he feels as if she's trying to see into his very soul, and unhappiness, so clear Kurt can tell it relates to his very presence in her daughter's life and home.

So far, she hasn't approached him about whatever is on her mind, and for that Kurt is grateful. He'd very much like to reduce the amount of contact he has with her. Being around people who don't like you isn't nice.

"Would you like some more eggs? That bottomless pit of a husband of mine should be down soon, so you should eat more now while you can. _Here _I'll dish some out for you..."

Thinking it's _safe_ to finally make an appearance, Kurt sneaks back up the stairs, and comes back down louder, making sure every step creaks under his feet.

"You really ought to have those stairs fixed, dear. They don't sound very stable."

"I know, one of these days my BFG is going to fall right through to the centre of the earth." _She_ laughs at _her_ own joke and _her_ mother laughs along with _her_, the early awkwardness is forgotten.

Kurt hesitates at the door, summons up a great deal of courage, and lightly pushes the kitchen door open.

"Good morning, sweetie. Did you sleep well?" _She_ greets him with a smile and a warm tone, and he returns this with a strained smile and tentative nod.

"Good morning, Kurt. You're looking happy today. Looking forward to school?" His fake grandmother also greets him with a smile.

Kurt looks at her and mumbles, "Morning, Grandma Lucy. Yes, I'm looking forward to seeing my friends again, after less than twenty hours of being apart from them."

The older woman looks displeased about his rudeness, but keeps her mouth shut. _Her _daughter simply laughs.

Truthfully, he is happy to about going to school. He'd be happy with anything that got him out of _this_ house and away from _these_ people. He might not have a lot of friends, but those he has actually _like_ him and don't act _fake_ around him, and don't make him unhappy with their mere presence…..

"I made you an omelette, and yes with low fat cheese," _she_ tells him as _she _bustles around the kitchen, grabbing whatever _she_ feels he should eat.

He gingerly sits down across from Grandma Lucy, and keeps his eyes trained on the shiny marble surface of their kitchen table, ensuring his eyes never meet hers.

She makes no attempt at conversation and he's absolutely happy about that.

_xxxxxxxx_

"Kurt, _here_. Don't forget your lunchbox again. We don't want a repeat of last week. Daddy has work so he can't come drop your 'box off this time." She hands him the Spiderman covered kiddie lunchbox (definitely not his choice), through the car window, with a semi-stern look on her face.

He takes it reluctantly, another fattening boring old sandwich (sans any meat of course) lunch for him then. He'd much rather prepare his own food, but God forbid the woman would ever let him do his own thing, and stop waiting on him hand and foot. Even after three years, _she_ still treats him like the six year old he was when he first entered _her_ home.

Once he has the lunchbox firmly in hand, he mumbles a soft, "Thank you, bye," and is gone before _she_ can even return the greeting.

Not once does he turn back. He walks, back straight, face upturned, into the safe haven of his Elementary school, ready to face a new day.

Had he turned to look back, he would have seen the pained look directed at his ramrod straight back and lone tear that dripped down _her_ beautiful face.


End file.
